Work Text:
In the sunset light of the streetlamp, everything is honey gold; the autumn leaves, the glassy surfaces of the puddles, Keith’s skin. The ghosts of his breath.
The sky and clouds glow antifreeze blue, brighter than sunlight yet darker than night.
Keith is looking away and Lance can’t tell what he’s thinking. For a moment, the boy beside him is a stranger.
He is shaking, though. Although he’s crossed his arms determinedly to hide it, the quietly chattering teeth sell him out.
So Lance shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over Keith’s shoulders. Sucks in frigid air.
He tells him.